Glenda

— Glenda! Glenda! — a familiar and very pleasant voice called her to come to her senses. She opened her right eye. — Finally. What's happened?

— What happened to whom?

— With you, silly. You collapsed in the middle of the office a minute ago, although you looked pretty healthy.

The girl remembered the last picture before fainting and, opening her eyes wider, instantly examined her hand. The hand is just like a hand, nothing unusual, as well as the smell. Pleasant fresh office smell.

— It's probably from hunger.

— Now Jack will feed you. Hey bro, bring your dry sticks here, the lady is hungry.

“Dry sticks? Bro? This is another Iver, whom I don’t know. It seems that he does not communicate very delicately with his colleagues. But I myself am not a pupil of a boarding house for noble maidens. If my father knew who I talked to after his death in order to get to work at the Guardian, what criminal structures I had to deal with. Once I drank vodka and coffee with a drug lord to prove to him that even this was no more harmful than cocaine, and then I concocted an article about our meeting. Only when I earned three thousand a month did I become addicted to fashionable clothes and stopped looking like a tomboy, otherwise I’m no better than Mr. Larsen.”

Jack, a short, stocky cop in his mid-thirties, brought some pre-cooked fish sticks. Now Glenda really liked the smell, the smell of food, she will finally have dinner.

— So, miss, you are a witness? — Jack began, waiting until Glenda chewed the last bite with gusto.

— Oh, no, God forbid! I arrived late, Jornas was already dead.

— How did you end up there?

“What?” Glenda pretended that she didn’t understand the question. How can she explain why she ran in her dressing gown through Copenhagen at night and ended up right next to a corpse? What will they think if they find out that blackness has been creeping behind her, and that there are ghosts in the house?

— What did you do at the crime scene?

Glenda picked up her mug of tea and took a long sip through pursed lips, obviously stalling for time. What can you think of to say to a fairly straightforward question? Or maybe the truth?

— I didn’t know that Jornas was killed. The night before we had a fight and I was left alone at home. Unable to fight the grief, I went out into the fresh air for a walk. And four blocks later I saw him completely by accident.

Iver and Jack looked at each other. Their faces expressed either disbelief, or understanding that both had a common train of thought, or simply fatigue from the lies of witnesses.

“Glenda,” the taller cop began softly. — If you don’t tell the truth to us, the people who can help you, then other investigators will simply make you a suspect.

“But I’m telling the truth,” the girl begged.

— Stop it! — Iver got angry, but lowered his voice again. “You didn’t even lock the door behind you.” It wasn't like taking a walk before bed. Plus, you were barefoot.

Then Glenda realized that the cops had already been to her house, perhaps there was no ghost there anymore, but there was also no evidence, because she didn’t kill anyone. There is nothing to be afraid of, it’s time to tell it like it is.

— Good good. I didn't go out to get some air. The house that Mr. Holstein kindly sold me, your honorable friend, Mr. Larsen — she emphasized this phrase — turned out to be a den of ghosts.

The men peered into the narrator's face, but did not interrupt.

— There was no one in the house, I heard a scream right in the middle of the hall, and also these damn traffic jams.

— Traffic jams?

— Yes, they took off at the most inopportune moment. And in complete darkness I became scared. Headlong, I rushed wherever my eyes looked. That's all — “They have nothing to know about the dying lights, they don’t concern murder.” “It’s like someone kicked me out of the house so I could be in the right place at the right time.”

— It's clear. — Jack concluded and called Iver aside. They talked about something, and Jack went into the back office.

Ten minutes later, a couple more guys in uniform arrived, it looked like ordinary lieutenants, handed something in a bag to Iver, saluted and left.

— These are your things and keys, I asked you to take them from your house so that you have something to wear for the first time?

— First time? I will never return to that house again, everything had to be taken away.

“You’re not going to sell a house just because of…” the man with the major’s shoulder straps stopped for a while.

"Oh no. He doesn't dare talk to me about my mental health! I’m out of my mind, you can find out from that old Jew, he himself said that there are ghosts in the house.”

Glenda silently grabbed the bag with her things and went to the toilet so demonstratively that Iver even chuckled out loud.

Khaki trousers with a brown leather belt went perfectly with a burgundy jumper from Ruban, and moccasins kept the feet warm instead of terrible off-brand trainers. Glenda felt fit again. She liked herself better this way, confident, rich and beautiful. And not at all crazy, she is in full bloom and will now show this criminologist how to investigate murders. Having gathered her hair into a ponytail and adding a little blush, Glenda went out again to the police.

— Bro, take more money with you. Let’s get used to the role of clients of the damn brothels.” Iver turned to Glenda and it’s impossible to say that he wasn’t surprised. Opening his mouth in surprise, he quickly came to his senses and turned to Jack again: “Why are you digging around there?” Let's go already!

— I'm going with you.

— No, I’ll take you to my home, it’s on the way to our establishment, and then we’ll do it ourselves. Tomorrow you will join the interrogation of the manager of the Rigshospitalete.

— I dont want to sleep. I'm going with you, period.

— Start thdriving — Jack turned on, seeing his partner boiling. “We could use some help from women if their boys are not gay.”

Iver muttered something displeased under his breath, but did not protest further. This is usually done by a boss who has been persuaded by his subordinates with the help of whims and sound ideas at the same time.

Satisfied, Glenda jumped into a government-issued BMW with license plates, and realized with horror that her boyfriend had died a couple of hours ago, and she was not grieving at all. “Such callousness is not respected by the people; no one likes arrogant bitches who quickly forget their love. How can you not be heartbroken after the death of the guy you imagined as your husband three hours ago? Cold bitch. That's who I am. Poor, poor Jornas.”

Chapter 5

A nightclub with a brown oak interior and the smell of leather and expensive perfume mixed with disgusting photographs of naked boys on the walls.

— It's art, miss. The bigots don't understand him. — a passing manager made a sarcastic comment towards Glenda, who was looking at one of the photographs with disgust.

“What a piece of trash, he runs a brothel, but thinks of himself as an aesthete. It’s okay, someday I’ll get to you”

— Good afternoon, gentlemen and lady. — a woman in a deep neckline extended her hand with a ring. — Whom do you want?

She gestured toward one of the tables in the corner that seated five. There weren't many people in the room, which is why they started serving them so quickly.

“Yor…” Glenda began, but Jack immediately interrupted her, neatly hitting her with his boot under the table.

— Wild Penny.

“Wild Penny? God, what a pseudonym. It seems like I don't understand people at all. Jornas cannot be called wild in sex at all.”

— Unfortunately, he is not here today. Besides, he is a favorite of women, not men. You would be bored with him.

“Phew, well, thank God. And all the same, what a blessing that I protected myself every time. From women or men, it doesn’t matter, such people can carry various diseases.”

— Then, Cowboy. We will go to him together.

— Fine. — smiling widely with a Hollywood smile, the owner of the brothel in a floor-length blue evening dress retired behind the bar counter.

— Glenda, you'll have to sit here while we question the witness. — Iver said educationally.

— No, I'll stay. — Jack protested confidently. — You will go to the Cowboy and find out everything. And if you go too far, she will be able to console him like a woman and get him talking.

Glenda was surprised at this turn of events. He is like an uncle who persuades a father to take his daughter fishing at the age of five, when she still barely knows how to sculpt sand cakes.

Sly as a fox, Madame Durso returned on the arm of a young and handsome boy. In a white shirt and jeans, he looked barely underage until she saw the wrinkles around his eyes. He is about twenty-five years old, just very nicely preserved.

“God, how similar to Jornas. This hair and eyes, everything is like his. Stylish and handsome, but submissive, like a bird in a cage.”

— One hundred euros per person.

— I'm sorry, what? — Glenda choked on her beer.

— You will be together, so two hundred euros per hour.

— Okay, madam. Here you go — Iver opened his leather wallet and took out two green bills and handed them to the red-haired madam.

— Come on, gentlemen.

— She and I will go.

— Fine. — The bar owner answered, a little surprised, and continued leading the guests along.

Glenda was embarrassed, but got up from the table and followed the trio.

In the twilight of the corridor with dim red lighting, mirrors hung along the walls. It was not clear to her why they were there, perhaps to create the illusion of involvement, that there were more guests caught in the whirlpool of lust and sin than there actually were.

Nausea rose in Glenda's throat; the only reassurance was that they were not going to do anything reprehensible with the Cowboy, only an interrogation, nothing more.

The door to the small blue room slammed shut. Iver turned the key, now they are alone.

— Which do you prefer, sir and madam? — the guy began obsequiously, but Iver stopped him.

— Listen, kid, that's not what we're here for. We need information on Jornas Cronwood — Wild Penny.

— I won't tell you anything. They'll kill me! — the guy whispered in fear.

— Tell me, otherwise we'll put you in prison.

Suddenly the guy started screaming at the top of his lungs “black, black!” Iver barely had time to cover his mouth with his palm, but there was already a knock on the room.

Glenda leaned over to the Cowboy sitting on the chair and whispered.

— Jornas was my boyfriend and I loved him. I have to find the killer of my loved one, and I promise that I won’t hurt you either.

The key in the lock turned and a thug in a black tracksuit burst into the room.

— What's happening?

— It's okay, Hans, false alarm. — Iver has already freed Cowboy, and it turned out that it was not in vain that he went with Glenda. She was able to persuade the boy to help them.

After looking at the guests with disbelief, the guard left, and Glenda again rushed to the witness.

— We need to know who came to Wild Penny most often? What notes did you tell our investigator about when you called?

— I was completely in vain to blab. Half an hour after communicating with your man, they called me anonymously and threatened that if any information was disclosed, they would come and deal with me.

— Who are they?

— Don't know.

— Was it a woman's or a man's voice?

— Male.

— Did only a woman come to Jornas?

— Yes. — but realizing that he had spilled the beans, the Cowboy stopped short — What? No. I can not tell.

— You will have to, because if this woman can take people’s lives so freely, then we are all not safe. — seeing a more humble look, Glenda continued. “You said on the phone that he was a businessman, the owner of the brothel kindly blabbed that Jornas is not gay.” So we just need the name of this businesswoman.

— I don't know.

— Speak, mother! — Iver shouted, already quite tired of Glenda’s courtesy to the witness.

— I really do not know.

— How does she look?

— I have never seen her, and Jornas did not tell me about her appearance.

— But the guards and Madame Durso saw her.

— No, this woman was always in a burqa. I can only tell you where the notes from her are.